


Companions React to the Sole Survivor Gifting Them Something They Knit

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [12]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Companions, Companions React, F/F, F/M, Gifts, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: It's the thought that counts.





	Companions React to the Sole Survivor Gifting Them Something They Knit

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Cait:** Sole held up her finished product, running her eyes down the soft fabric admiringly; the deep rib, the tea-green yarn; Sole buried her fingers in it – plush. She imagined the finished product on the recipient; the emerald hue would bring out her eyes beautifully. Sole was giddy as she leapt up, with an almost cartoonish energy, and set off to find Cait; there really were no holidays in the Commonwealth, and the brusque Autumn had already begun to settle in – so as far as waiting for an opportune time to gift her craft, well, there certainly was no time like the present.

Sole found Cait sitting on a crate by the workbench, a few twisted pieces of metal lay haphazardly on the surface, and the woman looked flushed with exertion, her skin gleaming sweaty under the dying glow of the day’s light, despite the sharp chill in the air.

“Taking a break?”  Sole chirped, holding the scarf securely behind her back.

“Yeah, damned shite feels harder to work with in this weather.”  Cait shot the difficult lumps of metal a sour look.

“Must be because it’s getting cold for the season,” Sole agreed.

“Ya don’t say.”  Cait’s eyes flickered to the place where Sole’s wrists disappeared behind her waist.

“Say, whatcha got there?”

Sole grinned, “Speaking of it getting cold for the season…”

She brought the scarf in front of her, proudly displaying it in front of Cait.

“I made you a little something, that will hopefully make your life a little easier!”  

Sole stepped forward to drape the scarf loosely around Cait’s neck, wrapping it twice, before adjusting it so that it hung around her shoulders just right.  Cait’s eyes were wide with surprise, and she sat with a statuesque stillness as Sole beamed at her handiwork.

“So, what do you think?”

Cait blinked a few times, before lifting a hand to feel the softness of the fabric.  Sole watched as she brought it up to lightly take a layer in her fingers, rubbing gently, before pressing it up to her nose.

“It’s so… _soft_.”

Cait’s eyes closed, and she inhaled.

“An’ clean, an’ new.  How did ye even make somethin’ like this?”

“it’s a hobby of mine – but you’re right, the yarn wasn’t easy to find.  Piper and I cleared an old craft store though, and to think!  Nobody thought Mongolian cashmere would be useful in an apocalypse!”  Sole shook her head disapprovingly.

Cait made that endearing, crooked smile of hers, her eyebrows cocked.  “I understood so little, of what ye just said.  Thanks though.”

She reached forward to gently take one of Sole’s hands in her own, squeezing softly, her cheeks pink, and eyes bright. Sole had been right – her captivating eyes and the jade-sapphire scarf combined were nearly hypnotic.

“I love it.”

**Curie** : Sole ran her fingers down the giant, chunky braid running down the left side of the pull-over she had just finished.  Each stitch looked meticulous, the neck, waist, and wrists of the garment tapering inward, with a flattering ribbed look.  The rest of it was quite simple, even, and without embellishment, save for the elegant braid Sole had taken the liberty of stitching.  The entire thing was done in a brilliant cerulean; a color that always made Sole think of the designated recipient.  

_Cerulean Curie_ , Sole thought ruefully.

Sole was folding it neatly, as Curie stepped back in to the clinic; a beacon of warmth in the frigid throes of the Commonwealth winter.  Her eyes fell on Sole’s nimble hands instantaneously.

“Ah!  You have finished eet?”

Sole grinned, “I have, I was just getting it ready to give it.”

“I’m sure the lucky recipient will be very happy to receive such a sing!  And homemade too!”

Sole had to bite back the laugh that threatened to escape.

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

Sole carefully picked up the folded pull-over, and lifted it, presenting it to Curie.

“Ta-dah! Surprise, Curie!”

Curie’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, and her smile beamed.

“For me?  Ah! You shouldn’t have!”

She reached forward excitedly, feeling the plushness of the fabric.  Sole let her pluck it from her hands, as the woman gracefully unfolded it, holding it up, appreciating Sole’s craftmanship.

“Of course, I don’t mean zhat,” she murmured, “I love eet.   _Merci beaucoup_.”

Curie’s eyes crinkled in the corners, as she gave Sole a wobbly smile, touched.

“ _Da rien_.” Sole leaned forward to press a kiss on her cheek.

Curie pinkened instantaneously, but slung her arms around Sole’s shoulders, pull-over still in hand, holding them both close, prized.

**Danse** : Sole wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her trousers, before picking up the finished knitted cowl, butterflies dancing in her stomach.  The Cartridge Belt Rib stitch had been done in a steely grey, resolute and strong like the man she planned on giving it too, but with feathered flecks of indigo that became more apparent the longer you admired the fabric.

That’s how it had been with Danse, hadn’t it?  He had seemed all procedural and void of heart, until the very thing that tethered him to this world had been shaken – and then Sole had gotten to see Danse and the components of Danse – Danse hurt, Danse scared, Danse grieving, and then after; Danse triumphant, Danse healing, Danse healed.  It was brilliant to watch, warming, and hopeful, following a bit of discomfort, like getting up early to watch the sunrise; completely worth it in the end.

Sole rolled the garment up as neatly as she could; there was no use in stalling, she ought to just give it to him now.  To finally tell him what it is she wanted to say, in the best way she knew how.

Sole found him at the nearby power armor station, wiping his grease stained hands with a rag, before drawing his wrist across his forward to alleviate the sweat that had accumulated there in his work.  Sole had to stifle a giggle as the dark pigment streaked across his forehead in the wake of the motion.

“Sole,”

Danse nodded, smiling.

Even after exiting the Brotherhood, he had kept his somewhat formal mannerisms.

“Danse,” Sole emulated his simple greeting, but could not contain the wide grin that formed.

“Is there something you need?”

Sole shrugged, “Not really, just wanted to stop by and uh, have a chat.”

Sole flushed a little, hating herself for feeling like she was trying too hard to be at ease around him.

Danse raised his eyebrows, “Sure, what did you want to talk about?”

“Well, actually, I had something to give you.”

Sole held up the cowl she had made him, coiled neatly in her hands.

Delight instantly spread across Danse’s face, subtle and controlled, as he usually was in expressing himself, but clear all the same.

“It looks wonderful.”

He reached forward to pick it up, before catching himself, rubbing his fingers together, feeling the filmy layer still caked on his skin.

“Oh!” Sole understood immediately, and Danse looked sheepish.

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

Sole laughed, feeling a little bit more like herself.

“No worries, I can help with that.”

Her cheeks pinkened, but she felt brave.  Sole shook the plush ring out from its neat twist, before looping it around Danse’s head.

Danse’s own face reddened, as Sole adjusted the fabric around him, pulling down slightly so it hung above his shoulders. Sole focused on anywhere but his eyes.

“I thought maybe this would help keep you warm this winter,”

Sole reached to gently extend the fabric, so that it could also fit loosely around his head, covering his ears, in a sort of hood.

“And you can wear it like this too.”

Sole’s heart hammered in her chest as she tried to ignore the proximity that seemed to liven every nerve in her system, a thousand tiny impulses running through her, all very much aware of Danse.  She was close enough now to trace the faint, white scar that intercepted his right eye.

“Thank you,” his voice was warm, like melted butter, and just as sinfully addicting.

Sole couldn’t resist an upward peek.  His hazel gaze was firmly set on her, unwavering despite the shy hue that dusted his cheekbones.

“That’s really all I had to say.”

Sole’s lips turned up into a shy smile.

“I see.”

Sole’s ears warmed, “So, do you like it, then?”

Danse’s eyes bore into hers.  

“I  _love_  it.”

He reached a hand up to the hood, and instinctively, Sole caught it.

“You have uh…stuff on your hands, remember?”

Her cheeks blazed now, and Danse cleared his throat.

“Oh, right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Sole reached around with her other hand, to pull the hood down so that it hung casually around his neck.  She noticed how Danse’s hand seemed to shift, adapting to make space for her grip in his.

Sole swallowed.  She hoped he wouldn’t notice the clamminess of her palms, especially with their combined radiating heat.  Sole wanted to pull away, out of embarrassment, but could not leave the hold in which his gaze trapped her.  Danse gently lifted his other hand to rest on her cheek, and Sole let her eyes fall shut, leaning into his palm.

It was in this small window of opportunity, that Danse found himself leaning in, to capture Sole’s mouth into a small, sweet kiss. It was so brief, so light, she might compare it to butterfly wings.  Sole wouldn’t have known it had happened, if she hadn’t opened her eyes to see a Danse, so flushed, he looked feverish, his eyes glued anywhere but her, and one hand nervously working the back of his head.

When Danse could look at Sole again, his demeanor changed completely.

“Oh, I uh…”

And then much to her surprise, he doubled over laughing.

“I’m sorry, “he buried his face in his arm, trying to get the carefree sound under control.

“I forgot…my hands…”

Realization hit Sole, and she reached a hand up to her cheek, feeling a slick wetness.  Sole pulled her fingers away and examined them; a black film was smeared across them. Sole let her own laugh mingle with Danse’s in the cold Autumn air.

**Deacon** : Sole fluffed the pompom she had just finished adhering to the top of the rounded, fluffy hat, smiling as it seemed to invoke no other reaction.  Perfect for the man who could do the same to her.  The rounded hat was almost childish, with exaggerated puffed out stitches, and of course; the pompom – a wooly grey, complimenting the cornflower blue.  It would go great with his eyes; not that many got to see them, but Sole had been one of the lucky few.  A brilliant, pale blue – probably due to his Irish/Scottish descent?  That’s what Sole would’ve guessed, with the ginger hair he kept shaved, and his peach complexion.

Sole gave the soft garment one more admiring rub, before setting it down, and pulling open the bottom drawer of her desk.  Now to find something, somewhat nice to package it in – she knew she had found a gift box somewhere - she quite vividly remembered the shit MacCready had given her for picking it up.

“Whatcha doing there?”

A face loomed over her shoulder, and Sole jumped in surprise.

“Deacon, you scared me!”

He raised his hands in surrender, “Sorry Sole, didn’t mean to, honest.”

Sole bunched the hat in her hands – this wasn’t exactly how she had planned on giving it to him – and turned to face him. Today he wore the black pompadour wig, his plain white crewneck, and of course, his sunglasses.

“Jesus, aren’t you cold?”

“I think you have me confused with someone else, I’m not Jesus – today.”

Sole rolled her eyes, “Cute.”

Deacon grinned, “Yeah, I thought so.”

His gaze flickered to the fabric bunched in Sole’s fist; the extreme plushness making it too much to be encapsulated in it.

“So, what do you have there?”

Sole sighed, it looks like she wouldn’t get the opportunity to wrap it after all.

“Well, I was going to wrap it, but then  _someone_  so rudely barged in.”  She shot him a look.

“Anyways, I made this for you.”

She unfolded her hand, to reveal the soft, albeit wrinkled hat.

“Wow, for me?  Really?”  Deacon’s voice lacked his usual witty edge; it sounded as rounded as the hat - set with a youthful vulnerability.

“Yes, for you, whoever you are.”  Sole teased.

Sole watched his eyes soften through the gap between his face and the lenses of his shades.  He traced a finger over the stitches, a soft, uncharacteristic smile on his face.

Sole gently took the hat from him and tugged it securely over his head.  Her cheeks warmed immediately – it was so cute!

Sole clapped her hands together, “It looks great!”

Deacon grinned, “Don’t I always?”

Sole rolled her eyes again, “Sure, but especially now, with  _my_  hat.”

Deacon flicked her gently over the forehead.

“You gave it to me, so technically it’s my hat now.”

Sole shook her head in mock disappointment, “And it’s a really great hat too…I wish I had a hat as great as that.”

“We could always share.”

Sole eyed the way it clung to his head.

“I’m pretty sure it’s made for one.”

“Fine then, “Deacon slung an arm over Sole’s shoulders, pulling her tight against his side.  

Sole could feel his body heat, radiating through the thin material of his shirt, and encroaching on her own.

“The hat will keep me warm, and then I’ll keep you warm.”

Sole flushed, “Sure Deacon.”

Deacon gave her another squeeze, as they fell quiet. His hold seemed deafening in the silence that followed.  Sole looked at Deacon and was startled to see that he was watching her.  His pale, blue eyes were watching her watch him, through the gap between his face and his glasses.  Sole felt naked, staring at his bare gaze that way, but she couldn’t break the contact.  Her breathing hitched, and she watched as he leaned closer, feeling herself lean in too.

**Dogmeat:** Dogmeat whined at Sole’s feet.

“Hang on boy, almost done.”

Dogmeat didn’t speak English, so he continued to whine at her feet, wanting Sole’s attention more than whatever it was they were busying themselves with at the moment.

A few moments of this passed, before Sole scooted back, with a satisfied “Ah-ha!”

Dogmeat perked up at the disturbance.  Play time?

Sole reached down, something crumpled, grey, and soft in her hands.  She cooed to him, as she pulled one of his large paws up onto her lap.

Dogmeat cocked his head, this was new, was this fun? He hoped it was fun.  He loved having fun with Sole.

Sole crooned to him, and tugged the soft, crumpled material over his paws.  Dogmeat pulled it away and slapped it against the floor.  It was so soft, and spongey!  His paw rebuffed with a slight bounce, and Dogmeat reveled in the softness against the hard callouses of the pads of his feet.  He let Sole pull the softness over his other paws, and he stood up, slipping slightly, his feet warm and soft, against the cold, hard floor. Dogmeat wagged his tail.  This was fun!  His feet were warm! He felt good!  

Sole rubbed his head and flopped his ears excitedly. Dogmeat licked her face, his tail wagging.  

**Hancock:** Hancock was lounging around on the couch in his quarters of the Old State House, his head swimming from the pleasant hit of jet he had taken in the past hour.  His jacket and dress shirt were tossed haphazardly around the room, leaving him in his trademark hat, undershirt, and trousers.  His boots sat on the floor at the foot of the couch.  The pleasant high had him pleasantly warm, and reeling, but his feet were annoyingly cold.  He shoved one between the cushions, and the other one, beneath the first.

He was too lazy to take further action.

From across the room, the door swung open, and Hancock didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Sole.  He’d never admit it openly, but he could sense her presence in a room as automatically, and naturally as if she were a part of him. Her footsteps, an even gait, not too heavy or loud; she always wore combat boots.  Her scent; a strange mixture of cigarette smoke and vanilla – where she found the means to smell like vanilla in the Commonwealth, had been beyond everyone.  He heard the footsteps grow closer, and he peeked an eye open when he figured she’d be towering above him.  He was spot on.

His insides warmed and prickled at the sight of her; cheeks and nose rosy from the bitter winds that had nipped at them on the outside.  A hat was pulled securely over her ears, and her hair sat in disarray beneath.  Her eyes were bright, and he could spot a slight glittery wetness to her – probably from the snow that had fallen on her outside and melted when she came inside.

“Heya sunshine, what brings you here?”

“I just had something I wanted to give you.”

He perked up at this, propping himself up on his forearms, trying hard to shoo away the cloudy haze of his trip.

“Sure, lay it on me.”

In the next few moments, something soft, and fluffy fell to his abdomen.   Well, actually, two somethings.   His hands snatched around them, as if to catch them, delayed.  He plucked one up and examined it; it was a flaxen yellow sock, softer than anything else he’d ever known, even back when he had been in Diamond City.  It had a tall, stretchy, ankle, complete with a ribbed cuff, turned heel, and grafted toe.

“A sock?”

“There another one right there,” Sole pointed out.

“Socks?”

Sole’s gaze flicked to his bare feet, still buried within the couch cushions.

“I’ve never seen you wear any, and those boots cannot be comfortable without; especially come winter.”

Maybe it was the ease the jet had brought him, but suddenly Hancock felt very, very vulnerable, and very, very touched.  It had been so long since he’d had anyone look after him like this.

“Sunshine…”

“Yeah, “Sole nodded, trying to talk through the crimson that seared her cheeks.  “That’s why they’re yellow.”

“To remind you of me?”  his voice rasped with feeling.

Sole didn’t answer.

Hancock adjusted his position on the couch, pulling his feet back, so that he could slip the comfy garments on.

“I never forget about you, sunshine, you’re always on my mind.”

Sole’s face further warmed, the tips of her ears reddening.  Hancock was too overwhelmed by jet and emotion to notice.

Sole suddenly felt a sharp tug on her hand, and unprepared, she stumbled forward, as Hancock pulled her down onto the couch with him.  Much to her embarrassment, he settled her on his lap, and she gently reached an arm around his shoulders to steady herself.  She felt the leathery texture of his skin as her fingertips wrapped around his bare shoulder.

“Thank you, sunshine, I love them.”

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and Sole smiled bashfully, pulling him closer so that she wasn’t resigned to meet his gaze. Sole was hyperaware of his grip, that edged around her waist, and the butterflies in her chest nearly escaped through her throat.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I love the person who made them even more though.” He beamed, and Sole buried her face in his neck, burning.  Chems always made him sappy.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

**MacCready:** “Hey, Robert, could you come here for a sec?”

MacCready flushed but came over to where Sole was sitting – he still wasn’t used to her using his first name.

“Yeah, what do you need?”

“Just stand still.”

MacCready watched as she stood op, drawing something long, soft, and purple over his head.  He watched as the material draped over his shoulders, like a sort of shawl.  He had to admit, he liked the way the purple looked with his green duster, and the cover it provided made him feel stealthier; like when he was sniping.  

Sole nodded, making a sound of approval, before removing the garment.  MacCready watched the trail of yarn tighten and contract with Sole’s movements of the shawl.  His eyes drifted to the contents of the desk; two long needles scattered haphazardly by a ball of yarn and a pair of scissors.

“You knit?”

“I do.” Sole hummed as draped the shawl carefully over the back of her chair and worked at the last tail of yarn.

“I didn’t know.”

“You never asked.”  She teased.

“I like your, uh…”

“Shawl.”  Sole flashed a smile at him, and his cheeks further darkened.

“Yeah, shawl.”

“Good!”  She snipped the final connection between the shawl and the source of yarn, before tying it up, hiding it discreetly between her stitches.

MacCready watched as she picked the shawl up delicately by the shoulders and draped it over him again.  He fixed his hat, as the movement of fabric mussed it from his head, Sole readjusting the fabric over him.

“It looks great.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I’m so glad you like it!”

Sole turned, and collected the supplies that sat on her desk, scooping them all up into one of the larger drawers, where MacCready saw a collection of other brightly colored balls of yarn, each with varying levels of fuzziness.

MacCready stared dumbly at her.

“Now what?”

Sole glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“You can go do whatever, that’s all.”

“What do I do with the shawl?”

“Wear it?”  Sole sounded confused.

“Uh, okay, when do you want me to return it?”

Sole turned to face him once more, from her seat.

“Return it?  It’s yours.”

MacCready’s eyes widened.

“You made this…for me?”

“Yep!”  Sole turned back to the desk, MacCready’s touched gaze meeting her back.  He reached up to gently nestle a hand in the folds of fabric.  He had always had a thing for homemade gifts, and this one was, well, it was really something.  He made sure to tell her that.

Sole smiled, “I’m glad you think so.  I made it for someone who I think is ‘ _really something_ ’ as well.”

MacCready flushed and pivoted so that he was facing the door once again, “I uh, I should get going.”

Sole didn’t look back – she didn’t want to reveal her own abashedness.

“Toodle-loo.”

He paused before leaving, “I think you’re really something too.”

He disappeared, missing the way Sole’s ears reddened.

**Nick Valentine:**  Sole stepped into the Valentine Detective Agency, shutting the door firmly behind her, and banishing the cold gust of wind that had tried to follow her in. She stomped her feet a few times to rid the excess snow from her feet, rubbing her fingers together brusquely to try and conjure feeling back into them.

“Hey Ellie.”

“Hey Sole – chilly out there, huh?”

“It sure is,” Sole agreed, trying to fight the chatter that lingered in their teeth, as a final shiver vacated her body.

“Is Nick around?”

Ellie gestured to the stairs.

“He’s up in the back.”

“Cool, thank you.”

Sole headed to the stairs, passing Ellie’s desk on the way.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a prettily wrapped box tucked underneath Sole’s arm.  Ellie smiled to herself and resumed tapping away at her typewriter.

Sole meanwhile, climbed the stairs, feeling foolish. He didn’t even have nerve endings, he couldn’t even get cold, and yet she had knitted him a scarf!  It was light, and fluffy, done in a creamy, off white, with end blocks of a striking navy blue, complete with a handsome, matching, navy-blue fringe.  It was a great scarf – as great as the man she had made it for.  Her heart seemed to hammer with every step she took as she ascended; the box felt like lead in her arms.

Sole reached the upstairs of the agency – the living area.  She paused at the entrance way, knocking on the tinny walls.  They made a hollowed-out sound.

“Nick?  You there?”

“Back here, doll.”

Sole flushed at the nickname and followed the sound of his voice.  She found him reclined in a plush, red chair, flipping through a casefile she recognized;  _Case 112: The Mysterious Stranger._   

Sole gave a small smile, “Working hard, or hardly working?”

Nick grinned, his gaze briefly flickering to her, before returning to the open file.

“A little of both, if I’m being honest.  How about you, doll?  What brings you here?”

Sole nodded, “Very official business actually.”

She flashed the pretty, wrapped package from under her arm, before procuring it.

Nick leaned forward.

“That for me?”

“You see any other devilishly handsome, private eyes here?”  Sole quipped.

“Ha ha.” Nick deadpanned, standing up.

Sole handed him the gift, and watched as he neatly unwrapped it, supporting it with his good hand, and carefully removing the wrapping with his wiry one.  Sole watched as the colored paper fluttered to the ground.

“Nice touch,” he commented, “Where’d you find it anyways?”

“I’ll just say this – no one can ever make fun of my scavving ever again.”

“Fair.”

Nick removed the top of the box and tossed it onto the nearby coffee table.  He studied the contents for a few moments, before shifting the box to his other hand, and using his good hand to gently brush against the fabric.

“It’s lovely.”

Sole smiled, relieved, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Where’d you get it?  You don’t see craftsmanship like this, these days.”

“I made it.”

Nick looked at Sole, surprised.

“You’ve got quite a set of hands on you.”

_And they can do a great many deal of things._

“Thanks.”

Nick gently picked up the scarf, balancing it with the box in his other hand.

“Here, let me.”

Sole came over, and took the scarf, looping it around his head, and gently wrapping it once around him.  Nick studied her face as it warmed from their proximity.

“So, how do I look?”

“Good,” Sole smiled, “Blue looks really good on you.”

Nick let out a dry laugh.

“That might be a bit of an overstatement, but thank you doll, it’s a lovely gift, from a lovely gal.”

Sole adjusted the scarf, before letting her hands smooth over his chest, making their way up to his shoulders.

Nick was still, and Sole couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a Christmas present.”

“I forgot, you would remember Christmas.”  Sole mused.

Nick chuckled, “Yeah, I suppose not many people celebrate these days.”

Sole shrugged, “I didn’t celebrate a ton either; but, I do like that there’s a day to take time to appreciate the people around you, the ones you care about, and to show them that.  It’s easy to forget.”

“That it is, but you never seem to.”

“I try.”

Sole sighed, feeling warm, “Anyways, I know how you feel on the subject, but I just wanted to tell you again, that I care about you.”

Sole nodded, before turning to leave – she hadn’t expected a new outcome from the same conversation she had, had with him time and time again.  How he wouldn’t allow himself to return her affections.  Sole headed back the way she came, pausing at the sound of Nick’s voice at the entrance leading back down to the main floor.

“I…I care about you too, thanks again for the scarf.”

Sole smiled again, not turning back, and headed back downstairs.

**Longfellow** : Sole watched the scene before her; Preston had managed to start a fire in the fireplace, and Trashcan Carla had managed to hit every request on her “wishlist” for booze, for the much-anticipated holiday party.  While Christmas in the Commonwealth didn’t really exist, they had found a collection of old holiday lights, and a conglomerate of other such holiday décor; tinsel, scented candles, stars and angels.  Winter set in, and as no one found themselves wanting to be outside, they decided to all gather at Ol’ Longfellow’s cabin.  Cait had been snooping through Longefellow’s stuff, when she had found the remnants of old festivities. which had led to the current situation.  Cait and Longfellow were laughing raucously at the bar, Curie and Danse were sitting, starry-eyed under the glittering lights, on the couch.   Deacon was reclined at the table, engaged in a heated game of poker with Hancock and MacCready, Dogmeat snoozing comfortable under his seat.

Nick and Piper were dancing to one of the smoother jazz pieces that was on the radio.  Even from far away, Sole could tell they were committed to their banter. Sole noticed when Cait left the bar to go join the poker match and thought it the perfect opportunity. Folded garment in hand, she headed to where Longfellow was sitting.  Sole had felt a little strange joining in the festivities noticeably late; but the sweater she had been knitting had taken longer than she had thought.  It had been one of her more time-consuming pieces; a steely grey pull-over.  It had been simple enough in pattern; nothing too elaborate – but still, it had been a large piece, and finding that much yarn had been arduous in the dilapidated Far Harbor remains.

“Longfellow,” Sole called, taking the seat to his right.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d come over and join everyone.”  The old man mused, taking a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, I was finishing up with something.”

Longfellow grabbed a glass from behind the counter, “Well, you’re here now.  What’re you drinking?”

“Bourbon please.”

Longfellow grabbed the bottle and filled Sole’s glass about a quarter of the way.  He pushed the glass towards her, before glancing at the pile of fabric on Sole’s lap.

“Is tha’ what you were working on?”  He gestured with his chin.

“That’s right,” Sole picked it up, and offered it to him, before taking a sip of her own drink.

Longfellow unfolded it, holding it up for inspection. Sole tried not to take his few moments of silence personally; she knew he wasn’t a super warm and fuzzy guy.

“Well now, that’s just real nice.”  He said gruffly, but Sole didn’t miss the wet glitter in his eyes.

Longfellow folded it the best he could and set it gently next to him.

“Thank you darlin’, it’s a wonderful thing you’ve made me.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Sole smiled now, warmed up from the drink, and having accomplished her goal for the evening.

Longfellow sent her one of his rare smiles, a couple of teeth were missing, but it was genuine, and it was seldom that she was in such company. They were quiet for a few moments, allowing themselves to fall into the background of the cozy scene; good company having a good time, not the holidays Sole had celebrated with her blood family, but a new celebration with her new family.  All was well on this quiet night.

**Piper** : “Owch!”  Piper hissed, as she gingerly pulled her sock off.

“What is it?”  Sole turned around, to see Piper dabbing at the angry, raw blisters around her ankles.

“These damned boots.  I should’ve just kept my old ones; holes be damned, at least they didn’t destroy my feet.”

Sole frowned, “Yikes, they must not be broken in yet.  You just have to wear them more.”

Piper groaned, “But look at what they’ve done already?  You’re telling me I have to wear them more?”

Sole paused for a moment, thoughtful.

“You know, I think I have something that will help – I had been saving them for another occasion, but this is an emergency.”

Sole disappeared into the hall for a moment, before reappearing a few moments later, with something fluffy and white in her hands. Upon closer inspection, they were off-white boot cuffs with cable stitched waves, embellished with a cute button on either side.  Sole dropped the fabric onto Piper’s lap.

“What are these?”  

“Boot cuffs! You wear them to stop your boots from rubbing your skin raw, and they’re cute as an added bonus.”  

Piper slid them on, placing them over the raw skin, wincing, but smiling triumphantly upon sliding her tired feet back into her new boots.

“Wow, I don’t feel a thing!”

“Good, because we have a  _lot_ of walking tomorrow.”  Sole teased.

“Where did you get these anyways, Blue?”

“I made them.” Sole tried hard not to look like she was gloating, but it was hard – she was proud of her skill, and she had a lot of it.

“You made these?  How come you’re not selling these and making millions?  It certainly seems safer than wandering the Commonwealth taking care of pests.”

Sole laughed, “Something tells me you wouldn’t be too keen to stick around and watch me knit all day.”

Piper shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean I do have the paper.  We could be a couple of hermits together, stitching and writing and never stepping outside of Diamond City again.”

Sole made a face, “That sounds hideously boring.”

Piper grinned, “Yeah, you’re right.  You and I get into a lot of… _fun_ together, don’t we?”

Her question was light-hearted, but Sole could discern the real curiosity embedded in it; she was testing the water.  Sole noticed she did that sometimes; as if trying to gage how Sole had felt about her, while on the other hand, Sole had always thought she was perfectly clear with her intentions to Piper.

“We do,” Sole agreed, “but it’s always fun being with you.”

Piper blushed, “G-Geez Blue, that’s really sweet of you,” she reached up to rub the back of her neck.

“But hey, I’ll tell you what, you should make us a bunch of cool, pimped out gear, so that we can traverse the Commonwealth in style.”

“Now  _that’s_  something I could get into.”  Sole beamed, imagining her and Piper, in the Commonwealth, kicking ass, clad in cable knit sweaters, and crocheted mittens.  

Piper smiled, the pink lingering in her cheeks.

“Well, we can start on that tomorrow, now that my feet are all set – we can scavenge for more yarn, and buttons if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

**Gage** : “It’s too damned cold.”  Gage grumbled.

Sole rolled her eyes, “That’s just because you’re used to the summer, and spending everyday prancing around in that little tank top of yours.”

Sole let her eyes wander to the black t-shirt Gage was wearing now; they had jokingly called it his ‘winter uniform’.  Showing less skin hadn’t meant he looked any less desirable though, Sole could still easily trace the contours of his well-muscled body beneath the thin fabric.  Sometimes, Sole thought it made her want him more.

Gage glowered at her, “Shut up,”

Sole raised her eyebrows, “You’re speaking to your Overboss.”

“My bad – respectfully, shut up.”

Sole grinned, “Better.  Besides, you should be nice to me – I made you a little something that might help.”

Gage looked at her curiously, as she hurried to behind the bar at the top of Fizzetop Mountain, procuring a soft, chunky-stitched, navy blue blanket.

“Ta-dah!”

Gage’s face remained as stony as ever, but the light pink hue that appeared on his cheeks gave him away.

“Shit, did you make that…for me?”

“Yep!  Do you like it?”

Gage didn’t answer, but Sole didn’t expect him to; he’d never openly expressed ‘like’, which is exactly how Sole knew he did like it.  She was quite fluent in Porter Gage at this point.  Gage meandered over to the bar, running his hands over the soft material.

“How long did this take you?  Actually, no, wait,  _when_  did you find the time to do this?”

Sole shrugged knowingly, “I have my ways.”

Gage nodded; he already knew that.

“Wait though - I haven’t shown you the best part yet!”  

Gage watched as Sole excitedly unfolded the blanket, the fabric more than quadrupling in size in its unfolded state.

“Hang on, can you head to the couch real quick? This will only take a sec.”

Gage had no idea what she was planning, but Sole was unusual – he already knew that too.  Obediently, he headed to the couch, and sat down, reclining to put his feet on the coffee table.  He leaned to the side, propping his head up with one arm lazily, waiting for whatever it was Sole had wanted to show him.  In the next moment, he felt something – or rather – someone, dive bomb onto the couch next to him.  The couch dipped abruptly with the hurried, extra weight, and he bounced slightly from the impact of Sole’s body onto the cushion next to him.

He froze suddenly, as she curled up against his side, one hand resting on his well-muscled chest, legs thrown over his lap, drawing the blanket around the both of them, successfully cocooning them together.

“The best part is…it’s big enough for the both of us!”

Crimson seared across his face, and Gage struggled to keep his composure as Sole cuddled into him closely, content with what his face was telling her.

“B-Boss…”

“That’s okay, no need to thank me, I’m enjoying this at least as much as you are.”

To Gage’s horror, his blush darkened even more.

“Now you’re just being mean, teasing me like that.”

Despite his flustered appearance, his voice still maintained its gravely quality.

“Who said I was teasing?  I’m dead serious.”

Gage looked away, “You don’t want me Boss.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?”

Her voice had lowered to a whisper all of a sudden, and Gage turned to look at her, trying not to miss the tail end of what she was saying.  He then found himself nose to nose with Sole, who was blinking adoringly up at him.

Shit, had she always been this cute?

Gage swallowed nervously, his heart urging him forward just a couple of more inches, his brain screaming at him to run.

Sole laughed quietly, “It’s okay, take your time, I’m content where we are if you’re not there yet.”

Gage didn’t know what to say – she always managed to do this, change directions at warped speed, and leaving him trailing behind her. Waiting?  Here she was dancing out of his reach again.  Sole leaned her head on his shoulder, leaving him stewing in his warm, not-so-secret feelings, as she tried hard as she might, to soak up as much of it as she could.

**Preston** : Preston drew his wrist across his forehead, trying in vain to control the dampness that had sprung from his exertion. It was a hot day in the Commonwealth; probably one of the hottest in the whole summer season, and Preston had picked this day to go around doing repairs around the Castle.

So far, he’d already fixed some faulty wiring, constructed a new guard post, and now, he was off to fix the loose wires in the fences for the brahmin.  He had discarded his heavy minutemen uniform ages ago; succumbing to the heat of the day. Right now, he headed over to the pen, clad in only his hat, undershirt, trousers, and shoes.  Sweat stains attested to his prolonged work in the sun, his skin glittering wetly as he continued onward, toolbox in hand.

When he got there, Preston could see the problem immediately; he might not even need tools.  He grabbed some of the loose wires, trying to ignore the sting of the hot metal against his skin.  He grunted as he worked to untwist the gnarled metal in a way that would allow him to realign them correctly.

His grip started to slip from the slickness of sweat and then suddenly the tip of a wire disappeared into the palm of his hand.

“Owch, dammit!”  

Preston snatched his hand back, the wire exiting the wound, leaving a dot of blood, only for his hand to catch the contorted grip of the other wires, breaking the skin, and leaving parallel bloody furrows along the palm of his hand, stretching to the side of his hand and his wrist.

“Preston!”  

The man turned in the direction of his name, nursing his wounded hand.

Sole rushed over, a container of purified water in one palm, and something soft in the other.  

“It’s fine, I just cut myself on some metal here.”

“Let me see,” Sole gently reached to grab his wrist, unfurling his fingers so she could see the cuts.

Preston watched her watch him; several strands of hair clung to her, and she was clad in just her undershirt too – it was just too damn hot today.  He tried not to notice the delectable curves her shirt clung to; this was their General, his General, picturing her as anything else was inappropriate.

“Here, drink this.”  

She stuck the water in his good hand, and he tilted his head back to take a few swigs.  He winced as she stuck something to his hand. When he looked he noticed it was a small square of fabric, sort of like a kerchief, but thicker.

“What’s that?”

He gestured to the material.

“Oh, this?”  Sole smiled sheepishly, “It was a little something I had made for you – to congratulate your success in getting the minutemen back together.”

Preston gently let his larger hand cover hers, guiding it away from his injuries, so that he could take the cloth, and examine it. He unfolded it.  Save for the blood stains, it was a navy blue knit cloth, with the white minutemen symbol stitched in the center.

“You…made this?”

Sole nodded, “Yes, and I was supposed to give it to you – but now, I suppose I’ll have to make a new one.”  Sole made a face, “Blood is really hard to get out.”

Preston’s heart twinged, “It’s lovely.”

Sole smiled, reclaiming the cloth, and sticking it back against his cuts.

“Then I’ll make you a new one, just like it.”

Preston watched her tenderly dab at the wounds, making sure the bleeding was stopped.  Quiet had fallen between them, and so Sole could feel his gaze on her, in the silence of concentration.  When she was quite sure the bleeding was mostly done, she let her gaze flick up to meet Preston’s warm, brown eyes.

“Are you okay?”

He smiled a lopsided smile, “Yeah, I’m great.”

“Great.”  Sole echoed, not releasing him.  

Her hold on him was clammy under the furious, raging sun, but Preston had no intention of letting her go, and she had no intention of leaving.

**Strong** : “Hmm, what is this?”  Strong grunted, as Sole presented him the package.

“It’s a care basket for you take back home, it has food.”

What it was, was a basket Sole had knit, filled with various meats she and Strong had…erm, collected on their journeys, along with some containers of water.

Strong picked it up, bringing it to his face, and sniffing, before nodding.

“Strong like this.  This better after waiting few days, so Strong will wait.”

Sole smiled, “Sounds good buddy.  It’ll be ready by the time you take it home then.”

“Strong say good bye now.  Strong go home.”

Sole nodded, “That’s right.  Thank you for your help.”

“Strong like puny human.  Strong will not forget.”

“Yeah, neither will I.”  Sole felt her smile tremble, and she had to bite back the tears that threatened to fall.

_Get ahold of yourself, he’s a super mutant_!

“Strong hate talk.  Strong hate good bye.  Strong go now.”

Sole watched as the hulking, green man turned slowly, deliberate in his size, and began the trudge home, basket of goods in hand. He continued a few feet, before pausing, and turning to face Sole once more.

“Strong…found it.”

Sole waited.

“Milk of human kindness.  Thank you, human.”

Strong turned around and continued on.  Sole watched as his form got smaller, and smaller, waiting until it finally disappeared over the horizon, before she turned back, and headed home herself.

**X6-88** : “Ma’am, you wanted to see me?”

Sole beamed, “I did X6, thank you for coming.”

“Of course, ma’am.”  Sole tried to ignore the implication that he had no choice.

She turned around to her desk, reaching into the drawer and pulling out something that X6 could only discern as long and fuzzy.  A…weasel?

“Ta-dah!” Sole spun around, a navy-blue bunch of fabric in her hands.

“It’s a scarf!”  

Large blue links interlocked to create the body of the scarf, tied off on either end by large, pompom like tassels.  It was cute, and not at all X6’s style.

“So, it is.” X6 remarked.

“Do you like it?”

No.  No, he didn’t like it at all.  It was fluffy and fuzzy and smelled sweet and flowery like Sole.  

“I….do.”

Panic welled in X6 at the blatant lie that had escaped him so naturally.  He specifically  _didn’t_  like this, so why had he said he had?  X6 would have to deal with the disturbing fallacy in his reason later, for now he had plastered a tight look on his face, still with a statuesque stoniness, as Sole playfully wrapped the scarf around his neck, fluffing it, readjusting it, and fussing with him.

More of her stupid flowery scent wafted around him, as she lingered.  He felt itchy, and constricted, by his clothes, by his skin, by that damned scarf. He noticed the playful gleam in Sole’s eyes as she smoothed her hands along his shoulders.

“You look so handsome in it!”

X6 could feel his cheeks warm.   _Dammit, why?_

“And you’re blushing!”

His cheeks warmed further.

“Ma’am please.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry X6, I’ll stop fussing.”

A part of him felt disappointed at that, X6 tried hard to ignore that part.

“It’s a lovely gift.  Can I take it off now?”

Sole’s face drooped slightly, “Sure X6, it’s yours, so you can do what you want.”

X6 swallowed nervously, suddenly more uncomfortable now that the touching and playfulness had disappeared.

“Actually, I think I felt a…draft.  Yes, a draft, and so it would make more sense for me to…keep it on, to ensure that I don’t succumb to sickness.”

Sole’s face brightened up again, “Yes, you must take care of yourself!”

“Thank you, ma’am, I will use it well.”

“I have no doubt you will!”  Sole bounced forward to pull X6 into a tight hug, and then bounced away before he could swat her off.  He watched her retreating form, his cheeks burning, and his heart hammering in his chest.

That damned flower smell lingered.


End file.
